The Seventh Witch (8 page)

Again I thought of Ethan and his undercover assignment. Did Great-Aunt Mary “see” Ethan as the instrument of justice that would bring the Dorans down? Should I ask her? Could I ask her without giving Ethan away?

“Ah,” I stammered, “I have a question—”

Her cackle cut me off. “You’re full of questions, girl, but you won’t get any more answers from me.”

Her smug attitude irritated me.

“I can find out on my own, you know,” I blustered. “You have your ways and I have mine.”

She cackled again as she gathered up her yarn. “No, you don’t. When you were a girl, maybe,” she said, shoving the yarn and pieces of Tink’s afghan in a bag lying next to her chair. “You’ve ignored your talent too long for it to be of much good.”

I jerked forward, insulted by her remark. “You’re wrong,” I insisted.

“I’m not,” she argued back. “I told your grandmother years ago to get a handle on you, but she ignored me. Now it’s too late. You’ll never be what you were meant to be, more’s the pity.” She rose slowly to her feet and gave me a hard look. “You’ve let the family down.”

I shot up. “I have not—you just wait and see.” The words flew out of my mouth. “If that woman tries any of her hocus pocus on us,” I jabbed a finger at my chest, “I’ll put a stop to it.”

She shook her head in disgust. “You’re no match for the
likes of her, even if her magick is weak. I’ll do it. I’ve been protecting this family more years than you’ve been alive.”

“You didn’t keep the snake—”

I cut myself off.
How could I be so stupid?

“Sharon,” I hissed, glaring at her. “She—”

Great-Aunt Mary straightened her shoulders and met my stare with one of her own. “You just settle down.” Her eyes were blue steel. “I made a mistake…I underestimated how sneaky she is. It won’t happen again.”

For the rest of the day my conversation with Great-Aunt Mary echoed in my head like an irritating song. No matter how hard I tried focusing on something else, there it was, repeating itself over and over again.

She’s wrong,
I insisted silently.
Every day I feel my gift growing stronger. It’s not too late. It can’t be.

Finally, after supper, I’d had enough. Great-Aunt Mary might have intended to protect the family, but I had a few ideas of my own. While she showed Tink how to crochet, and Abby and Aunt Dot watched yet another cop show, I excused myself and headed outside. By now it was too dark to climb the mountain. I grabbed the kerosene lantern hanging on a hook by the back door and, after lighting it, made my way across the yard to the barn. I thought I would find what I needed there. Holding the lantern high, I grasped the battered door and shoved.

Creaking, it swung open on its rusty hinges. I stepped inside.

A warm circle of light surrounded me, but past the bright edges, the sound of sudden scurrying came from the dark corners. Peering into the blackness, I held the lantern higher and tried to make my circle larger. I didn’t need some stray mouse running up my pant leg.
Whew.
I breathed a sigh of relief—not a mouse. A mother cat with three kittens watched
me cautiously from a hay bale in the corner. And right next to her—along the back wall—was an old workbench.

Crossing to it, I dug around until I found a dusty coffee can full of six penny nails. I selected one whose point was still sharp. Next I grabbed a piece of the lath that the Aunts used for kindling. Snapping it in two, I laid half of it on the bench and walked to the center of the barn. With a sigh, I eased myself down and crossed my legs.

It only took a moment to lay out my supplies—the lath, the six penny nail, my abalone shell, and a ball of sage. As I’d done on the mountain, I lit the sage, only this time instead of inhaling its purifying smoke, I passed the lath back and forth through the fumes. When I was finished, I picked up the nail. Carefully, I began etching the first rune.

“Algiz,” I whispered softly, and imagined any harm cast this way vanishing like a mist in the face of its powerful protection.

“Nauthiz.” Saying the name of the next rune, I carved it beside Algiz. As I did, I focused my desire to keep my family safe onto the long scratches I made into the lath.

Lifting the lath, I gently blew away the shavings before moving to the next rune.

“Kenaz.” The image of a fire burning brightly in the hearth appeared in my mind. I saw its warmth move slowly through the house until the entire building was wrapped in a protective glow.

“Berkano.” Pictures of my family flitted through my mind. Tink, Abby, Aunt Dot, Lydia, even Great-Aunt Mary. I saw Algiz standing before them like a shield.

Taking a deep breath, I began to carefully form the next rune. This was an important one—it focused the power of the runescript onto one specific person. Only Laguz would be appropriate. The symbol of a woman with extraordinary gifts…Abby. She seemed to be at the center of whatever was happening right now.

Satisfied I had it right, I made the sixth rune—Eihwaz, a rune that turned tragedy into triumph. The evil I sensed
gathering around Abby would dissipate and only good would remain.

And last but not least, I formed the final rune: Inguz, the symbol of a successful conclusion. It sealed the power of the previous six runes.

Holding the lath close to the lantern, I looked over each rune, seven in all. The number seven itself was magickal. It, too, would lend its power to my carvings. Lifting the lantern chimney, I stuck each end of the lath into the fire, charring them and containing the magick now permeating the small piece of wood.

After clearing my space, I cast the ashes in the air with a sigh of thankfulness and returned the sage to the earth. I rose to my feet and wrapped the runescript in a clean white cloth. Sticking it and my shell back in my pocket, I picked up the lantern and headed out of the barn.

As I crossed the yard back to the house, a small smile twitched at the corner of my mouth and I patted my pocket. Once this was under Abby’s mattress, she’d be safe.

I stopped and stared across the valley. My smile faded as I thought of Sharon, and anger pricked at me.

Mess with us, will you?

Even though I’d been the last one in bed, I still couldn’t sleep. I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and listening to Abby’s soft snores. Happy with myself, I snuggled down in bed. She was safe…I knew it. But what about the windows and doors? Had I checked them?

With a small groan, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and quietly padded out of the room. Halfway down the hall, I noticed a light coming from the living room. Great, another “back door Betty”? Peeking around the corner, I saw Aunt Dot, alone, sitting in her recliner, reading a book.

“Hey there,” I said in a loud whisper as I entered the room. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

With a smile, she placed her book facedown in her lap
and smiled. “Part of getting old, child. Your inside clock goes haywire.”

Walking to the couch, I sat and curled my legs underneath me. I eyed Aunt Dot speculatively. I’d done what I could to protect Abby, but I still wanted to know what happened to start this blood feud. And Aunt Dot
was
chatty. During her visit to Iowa she’d let several family skeletons out the closet, much to Abby’s dismay. Wonder if I could pry out a few more?

“I told Sharon Doran to back off,” I said abruptly.

Aunt Dot pushed the footstool of the recliner down and sat forward. “I know…everyone at Oscar’s was whispering about her showing up at the cemetery,” she said unhappily. “It was a sorry day when the Dorans came to these mountains.”

“It was right after the war, wasn’t it?”

With a shake of her head, she leaned back in her chair. “I don’t like thinking about it.”

Dang. Aunt Dot was as stubborn as Abby. Evidently this late night tête-à-tête wasn’t going to give me the information I wanted unless I came up with another plan. I fought the desire to suddenly snap my fingers—I had it—elderberry wine. The Aunts bottled their wine containing a secret ingredient every summer. And the secret? A goodly dose of moonshine. I didn’t know who provided them with the white lightning, nor did I want to. I did know that the stuff was potent.

I squirmed a little as I thought of a way to encourage my elderly great-aunt to drink alcohol in the middle of the night. But what could it hurt?

I gave a big fake sigh. “Boy, I sure wish I had something to make me relax.”

Aunt Dot, placing her book on the floor, rose quickly to her feet and barreled toward the kitchen. “Warm milk. I’ll make you a glass right now.”

Scrambling to my feet, I rushed after her. “Gee, Aunt Dot, you’ll need to fire up the stove. It’s late. I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

“Ack, no trouble,” she said over her shoulder.

“I have a better idea…” I paused. “Remember when you were in Iowa? I had the best night’s sleep after drinking some of that terrific wine,” I finished wistfully.

“The elderberry?”

“Yes,” I sighed.

Okay, so I’d slept hard that night because I was tanked to the gills—Aunt Dot hadn’t shared her secret with me yet—I didn’t know I was drinking a hundred proof moonshine. As a result, I’d had the mother of all hangovers.

Aunt Dot looked at me with hesitation. “But it’s not Saturday,” she said. “We only have wine time on Saturday night.”

Okay…I’d try a different tack.

“Wine is really good for you, you know,” I said in a reasonable voice. “It’s full of antioxidants.”

“Anti what’s-a-dants?”

“They keep your body going,” I said with a chuckle.

“Oh.”

Moving to stand next to her, I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Never mind, Aunt Dot.” I opened the cupboard and removed two small glasses. “I think a little glass of wine would be good for us, don’t you?”

A sly look crossed her face. “Sister wouldn’t approve.”

I returned her look with one of my own. “Neither would Abby, but they’re both asleep, aren’t they?” I asked with a wink.

She gave a soft cackle. “They won’t know, will they?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I replied, grinning.

While I carried the glasses back to the table, she opened the cupboard next to the sink and took down a half bottle of wine. Placing it on the table, she took the chair next to me.

I pulled the cork and poured us both a glass, with a little more in Aunt Dot’s than in mine.

“Skol,” I said, lifting my glass to hers.

“Skol,” she replied, and took a big swallow.

As I sipped mine, I noticed a bowl sitting in the corner by the warm stove. Smiling, I jerked my head toward it.

“Trying to placate your Nisse, Aunt Dot?”

A small frown flitted across her face. “Every night I’ve put out a fresh bowl of grits, and every morning it’s still there untouched.” She glanced over her shoulder at the bowl then back at me. “He’s really angry, and I’m beginning to think he won’t show himself until you’re gone, Ophelia.”

Aunt Dot really believed in this house fairy thing. I might not care about the feelings of something I wasn’t convinced even existed, but I did care about her. I reached across the table and laid my hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I made him mad.”

“Ack,” she replied with a shake of her head. “They’re peculiar creatures, easily offended. It could be he’s just moved out to the barn for now. I’ll coax him back to the house once it’s just Sister and I again.”

Taking another sip of wine, I tried to decide the best way to pump Aunt Dot for information. Start slow and don’t blow this, Jensen, I thought as the sweet liquid slid down my throat.

“Abby’s mom and dad sure had a great love story,” I started out, keeping an eye on her reaction.

She shook her head quickly. “Abby doesn’t like me talking about it.”

I gave her a playful nudge. “But Abby isn’t here, is she? After all, Robert and Annie are my great-grandparents. Shouldn’t I know about them?”

“Well then,” she answered, her eyes shining as she took a healthy drink of the wine. “Robert Campbell carried a torch for our Annie from the moment he laid eyes on her.”

“Did Annie feel the same way?”

“Ack, no.” Her face softened with memories. “Annie was beautiful. Her hair was her glory, though…dark auburn it was…and shone so bright in the sun.” She smiled broadly. “All the boys would hang around her like bees to a flower.”

“Why did she fall for Robert?” I asked.

Aunt Dot winked as she tapped her forehead with one finger. “Your great-grandfather was a wily one. He kept his feelings a secret and ignored her. Annie didn’t like that.”

I laughed softly. “He was a challenge, huh?”

“Yes he was,” she answered with a nod. “It wasn’t until the pie auction at a barn raising—”

I held up a hand, stopping her. “Pie auction?”

“All the single women make pies to be auctioned, and the young men bid on them. The one who bids the highest gets to sit and have pie with the girl who baked it.”

“I see.” I took a small sip of wine. “Did Annie’s bring the most?”

She laughed. “Not that night. Robert had paid all his friends not to bid.” Her eyes twinkled as she poured herself more wine. “One of her rivals’ pies went the highest. It was a good lesson for my sister to learn. She’d started to take those around her for granted.” Chuckling again, she shook her head. “I thought Annie would kill Robert when she learned the truth, but by then she was in love with him, so she forgave him. All their married life they joked about how much that pie had really cost him.”

“Your dad didn’t approve of the marriage, Robert being a Campbell and all, did he?”

“No, he did not. He never forgave the Campbells for joining the English at Culloden.” Her voice became firm. “If Robert hadn’t kidnapped Annie—”

“Whoa,” I broke in, shocked. “He kidnapped her?”

“Oh,” she said with a wave of her hand, “Annie went willingly. That kind of thing happened all the time back then. When the family wouldn’t approve of a marriage, the young couple would take off and hide out in the mountains for a few weeks, living off the land and running from the families. Then when the couple returned, the family had to accept the marriage, because…well, you know.”

“What happened if they got caught?”

“Depended on the family.” She drank the rest of her wine and poured another. “There were stories of some young men mysteriously disappearing.”

“They were murdered?”

She shrugged. “Pa wouldn’t have killed Robert, but no doubt in my mind he would’ve given him a beating if he’d caught him.”

“Robert took quite a risk.”

“Yes he did, but I know they had help.” She glanced over her shoulder and her voice dropped. “Sister snuck food to their hideout, but she’d never admit it.”

Surprised, my eyes widened. “I didn’t think Great-Aunt Mary was a romantic.”

“Annie was Sister’s real live baby doll,” Aunt Dot said with a smile. “She would’ve done anything for her.”

“And Abby was the result of the kidnapping,” I said softly.

A hot blush spread up Aunt Dot’s neck and she nervously sipped at her wine. “Yes.”

I reached over and patted her hand. “I don’t care when Abby was conceived. I think Annie and Robert’s love story is really cool.”

“But it ended too soon,” she said in a voice tinged with sadness. “When Robert didn’t come home from the war, Annie moved back here with Abby.”

She brought up the war…this was my chance.

“Wasn’t that about the same time the Dorans came to the mountains?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

“N—” She stopped short. “Ack, I don’t remember.”

“Gee,” I said, refilling her glass. “I could’ve sworn that was what Lydia said.”

With a sigh, she lifted her glass. “It was after the war.” After taking a drink, she placed it on the table and folded her hands. “Old Granny Doran was in the family way with their youngest. That boy must’ve been only about two when a fever took the old man.”

“Was Granny Doran a witch like Sharon?”